


remember

by daydreamsago



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), This is really sad, i’m sorry connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsago/pseuds/daydreamsago
Summary: He’s on the outside, looking in.





	remember

**Author's Note:**

> the idea of Connor being completely alone after Hank’s passing wouldn’t leave me be, so here, have this pile of Sad and cry with me

He’s on the outside, looking in.

Inside lies a warm environment, a happy family, though nothing is the same. Everything has changed; it’s been too long.

It’s been years since Hank passed away, and even longer since things were the way Connor wants to remember them. The two of them were together—time had felt limitless then. Connor remembers the happier days, playing the memory files over and over again in his mind, as if it will turn back the clock and take him back to those golden days.

It does no good, but he spends his days yearning.

He yearns for the days of closeness: in Hank’s arms on the couch at night, with Sumo pressed into his side. He yearns for the early mornings: warm cuddles and the strong smell of coffee in the air. He yearns for the gentle glances, the sweet words, the endless love. His heart aches for just one more day in that house again, with things just like they used to be.

But what used to be will never be again, because Hank is gone. Sumo is gone, too, though that wound is not as fresh.

The family he sees through the window appears to be happy—they’re gathered around the dinner table, all smiling and laughing over a home cooked meal. Connor remembers when a similar scene played out in that exact spot, some thirty years prior. He can see it when he closes his eyes; the picture as bright and clear as the day it happened.

One word echos in his mind as he watches them. Gone. Gone. _Gone_. He reckons no other word hurts him more.

His hand makes contact with the cold glass of the window. He remembers when he broke that window, so many lifetimes ago. He had saved Hank, and it would not be the last time, but the first of many times. The man had a habit of throwing himself into danger’s path. It was as if Connor had been sent to him to make sure he made it out alive each time.

Everything ends, everything will someday disappear. Connor knows this, yet he can’t seem to let go. He isn’t convinced he’ll ever let go. _Gone._

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until both his cheeks are soaked; tracks run all the way down to his chin. He feels somewhat guilty, watching these people he doesn’t even know, living in the house that he doesn’t belong in anymore. It’s all he can do, now that those days are over.

Saying goodbye is never enough.

Connor stays there until they turn the lights out, heading to bed. The night is cold, unforgivingly so, but he can’t feel the bite of the chill. He does feel the bite of the sadness, though, and nothing can compare to its harshness. _Gone._

He walks away around midnight, with great reluctance evident in his stride. No one sees him, and if they did, they wouldn’t care to ask any questions. He goes nowhere in particular, wandering—a lost soul, deeply saddened, and alone. The moon offers some light, as his stiff limbs carry him away from the only place that ever felt like home.

He remembers what it felt like to be on the inside, but that was many years ago.


End file.
